


The Road to Hell is Paved With Clocks and Good Intentions

by Skegulium



Series: Fantrolls - Tomois Drabbles [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, He chose to work for the IPC, Loss of Limbs, Medical Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Tomie was a rebel then crashed the ship he was stealing, and gave him two options, killed his friends and lost his leg before the Imperial Psionic Corps dragged him out, work for the IPC or die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 17:30:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17771132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skegulium/pseuds/Skegulium
Summary: ==>Tomois Rinoca | 11 Sweeps | Recovery wing of the Imperial Psionic Corps hospitalAll you could really do was lie there and listen to it the empty hospital room. No escape, just the endless clicking of a fucking clock. There wasn’t much else to do unless you wanted to watch more tv on the flatscreen built into the wall or… Sleep you guess. That’s all you had. TV, sleep, or the clock.The room was pretty much almost empty except for you, the bed, a sole chair that your captors dragged in, the door to the hall, the bathroom, a bedside table and the fucking clock.  So exciting, you know, how could you even live here with the constant stimulation of such a busy environment! It’s insane! Wow! Much noise! Very exciting… Yeah no, not even the sarcasm helped ease how bored you were. Or how agitated. The soft ticking of the clock was a constant now in your new life and frankly, you’re starting to wonder if you actually did die and go to hell or something like that.-------Eleven sweeps ago, Tomois woke up in a hospital.





	The Road to Hell is Paved With Clocks and Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> So, as a forewarning, please be mindful of the tags! As with all of my fantroll drabbles, I have this mirrored over on my fantroll blog on tumblr (skegulium.tumblr.com). In current canon timelines, Tomie is 22 sweeps old and a cadet for the Imperial Psionic Corps - a military branch of the Fleet that specializes in recruited and weaponizing psionics for specialized missions. Think Navy seals, if they had telekinetics! If you have useful enough abilities, you get recruited! As a navy, Tomie doesn't necessarily have something that powerful, but what he does have is intuitive aptitude - the ability to figure out how anything works just by touching it.
> 
> This came in handy for most of his life until his small group of friends and quadrants decided to join up with rebels and thought stealing a ship would impress them enough to let them join up.
> 
> It didn't go so well.

==>Tomois, 11 sweeps

_Tick._  
Tock.  
Tick.  
Tock.  
  
You wish you had something heavy to throw, but everything that could smash that clock was way out of your reach. There was a lamp on your hospital bedside, but your hands… Well. An experimental rattle of your wrists only served to remind you of the padded cuffs locked around them.  
  
So all you could  _really_  do was lie there and listen to it the empty hospital room. No escape, just the endless clicking of a  _fucking clock._  There wasn’t much else to do unless you wanted to watch  _more_  tv on the flatscreen built into the wall or… Sleep you guess. That’s all you had. TV, sleep, or the clock.

The room was pretty much almost empty except for you, the bed, a sole chair that your captors dragged in, the door to the hall, the bathroom, a bedside table and the fucking  _clock._   So exciting, you know, how could you even live here with the constant stimulation of such a busy environment! It’s insane! Wow! Much noise! Very exciting

… Yeah no, not even the sarcasm helped ease how bored you were. Or how agitated. The soft ticking of the clock was a constant now in your new life and frankly, you’re starting to wonder if you actually did die and go to hell or something like that.

If you did die, do you think you’d see Moirah and Ardela there? The Empire always put out mirthful propaganda that claimed that rebels and treasonous trolls always went to hell to suffer for their sins. Would hell be better if you had them with you? Would it be easier for all of you if you had died with them? It might have been for you, if it was an option. If only the Fleet took longer to drag out out of the wreckage…   
  
Licking your lips, you shifted to look down your body at your legs. Leg? You don’t know, all you know is that there was one long mound where your right leg was and… Nothing where your left one was supposed to be. And if you focused really, really hard, you can feel the cold hospital air against your skull where you knew ugly stitches stood out against pale skin where they sewed it back together over your brand new metal plate. You’re glad your hands  _are_  pinned down at this point because you’re not sure if you could have stopped yourself from playing with the stitches. You didn’t want them, you wanted to pull them out and let yourself bleed and maybe go back home with your quads and your friends wherever they were now, hell, heaven or purgatory -   
  
“Hello, Tomois?”  
  
You jump at the voice, twisting your head to look at the hall door and feeling the stitches in your head bump against your pillow. It hurts, but you keep your head there because you probably deserve that. You don’t even tell the teal walking in to fuck off like you want to, so you  _definitely_ deserve it. Stick to your guns, asshole! Say something mean! Make fun of the mole on her lip! _Anything!_  
  
Licking your lips  _again,_  you lifted up one hand to wave it at her. “Hi,” You croak, and the teal beams at you as she closes the hospital room door. There’s a chair near your bed, near the window looking into the hall and she pulls it close so that she sat near your side, the one that  _had_  a leg.   
  
She’s kind of pretty, you guess. It’s hard to tell how old she is since she’s definitely hit that point in her life where she’s stopped aging - a bonus of being highblooded - but she  _looks_  nice. Clean, crisp clothes, a pristine lab coat with the IPC logo on it, and you notice she’s lugging two tall crutches with her that she rests up against the wall next to the bed. Her almond eyes have just the tiniest crinkle to them and her round cheeks are just a tad flushed with color and she tucks a stray strand of hair from her bun back behind her ear. She looks kinder than anyone else you’ve met and you’re just so  _suspicious._  
  
You’re quiet as she settles in and she gives you another small smile before she reaches forward to shake your hand. “My name is Cadnic but you can call me Caddy. It’s really nice to meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you Tomie and I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you so far. How are you holding up?”  
  
You just want to scream. God, you want to yell and jerk at your restraints and kick whatever legs you have left and yell that you’re doing  _horrible_  thank you very much, you’re One Leg Joe now, they gave you a fucking shaved head during surgery, you look fucking hideous and your  _fucking friends are dead_  because of  _you_ and everything is terrible and horrible and here she is trying to be  _sooooo_  fucking nice to you and you hate it, you hate  _her_  and you hate  _yourself_  and this  _room_  and the  _Empire_  and the  _Empress_  and she has the  _audacity_ to call you Tomie - WHICH!! You never even  _told_  anyone that name which means she probably looked through your shit and messages on your phone and you want to _cry -_  
  
“Could be better,” You whisper out, giving her a wary, half hearted smile. “It uh, kinda sucks being stuck in a bed but they let my have a TV with some channels. It’s nice. I guess. Food sucks bulge though.”  
  
Caddy beams at you again and gives your hand a small squeeze before letting go. “I’m glad! Unfortunately I can’t do much about the food, but I think I have something I could do about being in bed all the time.” She gestures on over to the crutches and you adjust your head to crane at them. The stitches dig into your scalp again but it’s a dull, deserving pain as you glance back on over to her. “Of course,” She continues. “There will be some restrictions on where you can go with them and remember, it’s a gift from me but your doctors will call it a privilege. You’ve behaved incredibly well while you were here so I decided it was time for you to get some mobility back! If you can promise you’ll keep behaving, we can let you try them out.”

Well. You weren’t expecting that but you know what? You’ll take it. Swallowing, you look her in the eyes and nod, just a bit. “Okay,” you hoarsely whisper. “I can behave.”

“Great!” And the next thing you knew, her hands jingled some keys and the cuffs fell away from your hands.

It's… Weird to be mobile again and you take a moment to rub your wrists. Fingers run over bumpy scars six sweeps old and you inhale deep before you push yourself up to sitting. “Be careful,” Caddy cautions as she helps guide you up, one hand on your shoulder but you don’t say a word. One leg swings off the bed and then another - oh. Right. There is no other and you awkwardly hang one leg off the bed as she gets the crutches ready for you. You balance them in front of you and inhale, long and deep before you grip the handles.

They’re cold in your hands and for a moment fear seizes your heart and your vision blacks out. Suddenly you’re back in the cockpit of that ship. The handles are hard and cold in your grip and sirens are blasting all around you and there’s a hand on your shoulder, small and delicate as she screams in your ear to hurry, hurry, hurry -

“Tomie?” A voice pops up, quieter and kinder than the one in your head. “Are you okay?”

When you pull yourself back into your body, you’re breathing harder than you expected. You’re hunched over, crutches gripped with white knuckles in your hands and you’re shaking from the effort. Caddy is petting at one of your shoulders and you focus on that instead of the fear pounding through your chest. It’s soothing, kind of, and little by little you can feel your chest ease up and your back straighten. Cool hands slide up your shoulder and there’s a hand on your cheek, on the scarred side, and you’re too exhausted to even flinch away.

She’s smiling again. You stare at her through a half lidded eye and she just pats your cheek gently. “Look, see, you’re safe and sound,” she murmurs, brushing long tendrils of your hair out of your face. You dimly think you’ll have to cut that later to match the shaved side. Thanks, surgeon, for the whole new haircut you didn’t ask for. “Do you want to lie back down? We can try this again later. We shouldn’t push you any harder than you can handle.”

Oh no. Oh no no, you couldn’t stand the idea of lying down in that bed for another day, not when you had crutches in your hand and your wrists free. It’s all you had and you shook your head and pulled away from her hand. “No,” you rasp out. “I can do this. I just - give me a minute and I’ll figure it out. Please.”

Caddy just nods at your plaintive pleas and she steps back as you get a grip on the crutches again. There’s no flashback this time around and for that, you’re grateful. It gives you a minute to focus on pulling yourself up onto them and tucking them under your shoulder and…

You stand.

It’s awkward, you feel like you’re about to topple with one leg, but Caddy is right by your side with her fingertips on your back. You have to shuffle your wait around a bit but you think… You think you’ve got it. Maybe.

Once you’re up and standing, Caddy’s face just breaks out into the  _biggest_ grin and you can’t help but look up at her and smile back weakly. “Good job!” she gushes and she steps away to give you more room. “Can you move? Can you try for the bathroom?”

You glance across your hospital room towards the door in the corner that lead to it. It’s not  _that_  far, maybe you can make it. “Yeah, I think so, maybe. Uhm, okay, let’s - let’s try it.”

It takes some finangling but you do it! There’s a close call or two but you make it to the bathroom, inside the bathroom, back outside and around the room. Caddy was glued to your side as you moved, your hands struggling to keep a good grip on the crutches as you moved. The more you moved though, the more you got used to how to how much weight you had to put on your only leg. It was such a small thing, walking around the room, but for the first time in three weeks you felt…

Free.

Free-er, at least. On your second lap through the room and bathroom, you catch a good look at yourself in the mirror.

Stijon said once you were a handsome troll. He said it with an adoring smile on his lips and a thumb on your chin and his leg hooked around yours. He said you had pretty, open eyes - and then he’d laugh and correct himself to  _eye -_ and Moirah agreed when she stroked a hand across your cheek. A cheek she thought was chubbier than it needed to be, but also too thin? When did he last eat, she’d say before she pinched them. It was a joke, of course, you ate plenty but it was a good excuse to get all of you out for takeout somewhere.

Now?

Your big, pretty eye was sunken in and bruised. Your cheeks were just as bruised and you can see the faint blue marks of a fresh cut healing on your chin. There was one long, angry wound starting from the hairline of one side of your face and ran jagged across your shaved head and the skin puckered around the stitches. You looked like shit. You looked like a killer, a traitor, someone who should have fucking died in the wreckage with his friends. That’s a quad-killer’s face, a quad-killer’s horns and lips and shitty, missing eye and -

“Hey, it’s okay Tomie,” A voice calls out and you jump when you feel a hand slide between your shoulder blades. Good god, was she a fucking  _ninja?_  Caddy’s right there and she’s all concerned and caring and shit and she lifts up a piece of toilet paper to blot your cheek.

Oh . You didn’t even realize you were crying.

“You did great tonight,” She says softly as she scrubs your cheek. “We know you can walk around. Do you want to stop for now? You seem tired.” You almost want to call her bullshit out for that, you’re not  _tired!_  Just because you walked a bit doesn’t mean you’re fucking tired!

… But you don’t fight her as she presses a hand on your back and leads you back to the bed. God, you’re  _pathetic._ This is why your friends died, you’re pretty sure of it.

You ease into the bed soon enough and the moment that your back hits the mattress, you sag into it. There’s still that lump of sadness and loathing burning in your chest and you turn your head to push your stitches against the pillow so you can get punished again for being fucking weak. Caddy doesn’t seem to notice, thankfully. She’s too busy tucking your crutches against the walk again and she’s still full of smiles as she looks at you.

“Don’t you think that’s a good introduction?” She beams. “Now, now that you’ve got your gift and tried it out, how are you doing?” Caddy is settling back into her chair now and she pulls out a fancy holoboard out of a pocket so she can take notes. Of course she’s taking notes, she’s  _some_  sort of doctor. “Can you tell me more about yourself, Tomie? Don’t worry, I don’t want to know about how you got here, unless you want to talk about it, I just want to know more about you since we’ll be working together from here on out. I want to make sure I have your back through thick and thin and -”

“Can I just be alone for a bit?” You interrupt. It’s a bit louder than you were aiming for, but that was too many words, too many questions wayyyy too quick for you and you still can’t get your ugly mug out of your mind. “Like - you’re nice and all but I just… I don’t think I’m ready to do that. Not tonight. I’m tired. And hungry.” You’re not either of those, but you don’t want her to blather on at you.

Caddy falls silent after you speak and she just sits there and studies you. You’re not looking straight back at her  _per se_ but you’re like, looking at her chin. That’s good enough. That’ll fool her into thinking you’re making eye contact, you’re pretty sure. “… Of course,” She says after a long moment and pockets her holoboard. “it’s a lot to take in, how about… We continue talking tomorrow, after you rest? Bright and early in the evening?”

You nod. Sure. Whatever. Whatever will make her leave you be for a bit so you can, you don’t know, beat yourself up with your own crutches.

She accepts that though and next thing you know, she’s up and heading for the door. She doesn’t lock your wrists up again and you’re not gonna point it out to her as she beams back at you. “Goodlight then, Tomie! I’ll see you tomorrow night! Sleep well!”

The door lock clicks when she leaves and then suddenly, you’re thrust back into silence.

_Tick._  
_Tock._  
_Tick._  
_Tock._

… Ah shit. You didn’t think this through you forgot about the fucking clock. One hand comes up to your scalp and you scratch and pick at the edge of your stitches as you eye up the clock. Could you - ?  _Should you - ?_

No, you mull as you start pulling at a stitch. You’ll just tough it out. It’s punishment. Your own personal hell. You’re supposed to suffer here anyway so no TV, no nothing, just you, an empty room and a fucking. Fucking clock.   
  
****You don’t know what it’ll accomplish. Maybe it won’t do anything, but maybe, you think as pain sears through your head and tears prick at your eyes again, just maybe it’ll wake you up out of whatever hellscape of a dream this is. Maybe if you suffer enough, Moirah and Ardala will pop out and yell ‘surprise!’ and you’ll all go get East Alternian food again.  
  
There’s the sensation of something running down the side of your head, but you don’t pay attention to it. What’s hell without pain after all? What’s hell without torture? There’s pain, that’s definitely getting it’s quota filled, and the torture, well…  
  
_Tick._  
_Tock._  
_Tick._  
_Tock._  
  
Who knew hell could be a clock in an empty, silent room?


End file.
